Laughing. The thing is laughing at us again.
10.
Unlike Jared, Deputy Coggins couldn’t help but watch, and it took all of his concentration to keep from leaping out of the closet and running downstairs, gun blazing.
We stay.
It was easier to see the thing now that the sun had begun to peek over the horizon, but Deputy Coggins wished that on this day it had taken its time. His heart sank. He could no longer make out any pink on its face or upper torso. Whatever transformation it was undergoing, it was clear that it was nearing an end.
Stupid, stupid, stupid fucking plan. Fucking stupid Cletus Oslo Hardy, way to go, you fucking moron—you really solved this one.
Without warning, the beast lifted its head to the sky and shook its neck violently, flaps of loose dark green flesh on its neck whipping back and forth like the jowls of a massive dog. When its head faced forward again, it looked to Coggins like its lower jaw had come unhinged, revealing a row of small white teeth amidst the black void of a mouth.
With its long, pointed fingers, the thing raised Oxford’s limp, skinless body until its black lower lip rested on the poor man’s glistening red forehead. With one undulating forward shift of its neck, Oxford’s head disappeared into its mouth to the tops of his ears.
If he had had anything left in his stomach, Coggins had no doubt that it was at this point that he most definitely would have rid himself of it. But it had been so long since he had eaten anything that his stomach had lost its ability to regurgitate—instead, it revolted by clenching into one solid knot. His abdomen contracted as well, and he almost resorted to the hide-the-face tactic that Jared had adopted ever since his brother had fallen to his knees. But his job wasn’t done yet, and he forced himself to keep his eyes trained on the horrific scene unraveling in the foyer.
Slowly, the dark black lips inched their way over the back of Oxford’s head like two thin, slow-moving caterpillars. The thing’s large arms suddenly flipped Oxford over so that the man was now face up, lying with his neck and shoulders resting on the beast’s massive chest and even bigger abdomen, his bare heels just barely in contact with the floor.
Coooooooome
Now Deputy Coggins did look away, and he found himself struggling to avoid receding into Jared’s dark place.
It was Oxford’s eyes that had done it, that had made the scene unbearable. Even though it was unlikely—impossible—that the man could be alive, let alone conscious, after injecting the caustic mix of clonazepam and heroin and being skinned, his lidless eyes were wide and they seemed to scream at Coggins.
Help me! Dear Jesus, help me! his eyes screamed. I made a mistake! Please! Please, I don’t deserve to be eaten alive! No one deserves to be eaten alive!
It was true, of course; no one deserved Oxford’s fate, especially not someone that was clearly well-meaning, despite his obvious flaws. It dawned on him that perhaps Oxford’s decision to inject himself might not have been as selfish as he had first thought; maybe he done it to make sure that the drugs got into the beast, just as Jared had said. He didn’t know the man well enough—didn’t know him at all, really—but it was possible that the man’s decision was more a result of martyrdom than selfishness.
Either way, it was Oxford or all of them—Jared’s words—and the latter was clearly not an option. Besides, the man had been skinned, and while he was perhaps the furthest thing from a doctor, Coggins doubted anyone could survive that. There was nothing he could do but follow through with the plan.
The rumbling returned, but now it was more wet and muffled, the individual laughs acquiring a thwub, thwub, thwub quality with Oxford blocking its gaping orifice.
Coggins breathed deeply, trying to focus.
Come
He covered his ears, trying to block out the sound, but it was no use; it was inside his head.
Cooooooooooooooooome
It took less time than either Coggins or Jared could have hoped; it was no more than five minutes after the thing had flipped Oxford over that the deputy heard the first gag.
It was a subtle noise at first, and Coggins thought for a second that maybe it was just a normal sound of the thing’s fucked-up anatomy, or a consequence of trying to devour a one-hundred-and-seventy-pound man whole. The second gag, however, was more pronounced, and Coggins forced himself to look again.
Oxford’s entire head and most of his left shoulder were buried in the thing’s mouth. He had been folded somehow, his shoulders crushed together so that they nearly met below his chin. But instead of trying to shove the other shoulder into its enormous, gaping jaws, it seemed to be trying to force Oxford out. Its gullet, so obviously engorged with Oxford’s head, twitched and vibrated, an action that Coggins recognized even in this abomination: it was going to vomit. There was a large undulation of the thing’s gut, a massive wave that shuddered from the bottom of its stomach up to the spot where its neck should have been, followed by a horrible, wet retching sound that was muffled by the body that still filled its mouth. Even from deep within the closet, Coggins could see the thing’s yellow eyes roll back and the scaly green nose, pointed nearly at the ceiling its mouth was spread so wide, tighten and scrunch. A whole gallon or more of a hot, putrid fluid bubbled out of its lips and soaked Oxford’s dark red upper chest.
Another gag, another convulsion. The thing’s eyes closed and Oxford’s body seemed to slip out a couple of inches, with more of his upper arm becoming visible. It was like witnessing Oxford being birthed, inching his way out of the membranous lips a centimeter at a time. Another gag, then another. Coggins heard more fluid splash on the hardwood, but he couldn’t see where it landed. The gags became so frequent that they seemed to meld together like a horrible bulimic cacophony, and before long, Coggins thought he could see Oxford’s front deltoid and the base of his throat clear the thing’s lips.
It was now or never.
Okay, you motherfucker, I’m coming!
11.
The Thing Didn’t Notice Coggins emerge from the closet, nor did it acknowledge him bounding down the stairs two at a time. When Coggins got to the bottom of the staircase, he was hit with an unbelievably hot wave of air that was so thick and foul that he nearly stopped short. Only adrenaline kept him moving forward, a hidden reserve he had no idea existed, and with his eyes watering, he made it within ten feet of the thing to his shotgun that lay abandoned on the hardwood.
In one fluid motion, he grabbed the gun, spun it, cocked it, and aimed it at the thing’s head. At that very moment, what was left of Oxford’s partially digested face spewed from its open mouth, accompanied by a deluge of more of that hot, stinking liquid. Coggins fought the urge to look at Oxford’s horribly mangled face, and instead concentrated on searching for a patch of pink anywhere on the thing’s head. It was a repulsive sight, the lips like black elastic bands that had been pulled too far and then let go, but refused to return to their original shape.
C’mon, c’mon...
The thing’s green head, which Coggins now saw was indeed covered in thick scales, was all dark save for some blood at the corners of its mouth where its lips had split.
Then he saw its eyes; they were dark and distended, and if there had ever been any human in those eyes, any of Sheriff Drew, it had long since disappeared.
Still retching despite having unburdened itself of poor Oxford, the thing slowly turned toward Deputy Coggins and he started to panic. He whipped the gun back and forth, trying to focus on some—any—pink area on the hard green carapace. Unbelievably, the rumbling returned; despite its obvious sickness, the thing was laughing again, the individual rumbles intermittently interrupted by more spattering of the hot liquid. So much had spilled from the thing’s mouth that Coggins had to make sure he didn’t slip as he swung around the thing’s body, looking for some flesh—human flesh—to shoot at.
The beast continued to turn its head, trying to follow Coggins, but the motions were ratchet-like and it failed to keep up with the deputy’s move
ments.
Just when Coggins had nearly given up hope, something flew into his peripheral vision and smacked against the side of the thing’s head.
A baseball. A fucking baseball.
Coggins looked up at the railing and saw Jared’s grief-stricken face staring down at him. Beside him was Alice, who mouthed, Baseball. She was smiling.
He heard another rumble and turned back to the beast. Although the baseball hadn’t hurt the thing, it had turned to look up at Jared and Alice, and in doing so revealed a small patch of pink skin still tightly attached to its left temple, with only the bottom looking as if it had started to peel away.
Bingo.
“Dana,” Coggins said, his voice hoarse and dry, “don’t get down.”
And then he fired.
A hot liquid splashed Deputy Coggins’ face, chest, and arms, and he stumbled backward, once again dropping the shotgun. He clawed at the fluid, pulling it away from his nose and mouth in thick, goopy strings. Gasping for air, he finally managed to clear the sticky mess from his nose and took a deep breath. He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear; the shot had been so loud in the house that he was temporarily deafened.
Even though he couldn’t hear, he felt a sighing sensation—a change in pressure like someone had slammed the front door. Instinctively, he took another two steps backward, still trying desperately to remove the sticky substance from his eyes.
Eventually, he cleared enough fluid from his left eye to force it open, and he realized that he was immersed in a thick fog, like humid, tropical air mingling with the smoke from the shotgun blast. As Coggins pulled more of the liquid from his face and ears, he realized that the hot mist was coming from where the beast’s head had been. The thing’s massive body stayed in place for a moment, upright, but as he watched it slowly fell forward, its bulk spilling out at the sides as it collapsed onto what was left of Oxford. A dark green liquid slowly gurgled out of the thing’s ragged neck, coating Oxford like hot oil, and Coggins retched.
Then he heard another sound: a strange clacking noise, like someone rhythmically banging a hammer against the side of a piece of wood. Coggins took another few careful steps backward before turning to face the landing above. On the balcony, Deputy Coggins saw Jared crouched over Alice’s seizing body, her heels slapping off the hardwood with every spasm. And then there was the laugh; somehow, Coggins still heard the thing’s laughter echoing inside his skull.
Epilogue
The Dog’s Collar
1.
“Alice? Can You Hear me, Alice?”
The doctor stood over the pale figure on the bed, alternating shining a light into each of her pupils. Alice’s nose and cheeks were covered with gauze from where they had removed the most severely frost-bitten areas, and cotton padding was wrapped around her entire head.
The doctor reached under the sheet that covered the woman. When his hand met hers, he gently squeezed her palm with his thumb and forefinger. The woman on the bed didn’t respond. He applied more pressure, this time looking at the heart monitor; the tracing didn’t change. The doctor squeezed harder still, looking for any sort of physiological response.
“Nothing,” he muttered, slowly bringing his hand back to his side. He cleared his throat. “Braindead. When was she admitted?”
A portly nurse flipped through pages of a clipboard. Her brow furrowed in concentration, and she used a chubby finger to find the right section of Alice’s medical record.
“Says here she was admitted three nights ago: grand mal seizure.”
The nurse closed the file and pulled the glasses off her nose, allowing them to come to rest on her large bosom, held there by a beaded cord.
“Nancy said the man who brought her in thought she had stopped breathing for a good five minutes after smacking her head off the floor.”
The doctor said nothing.
“But,” the nurse continued hesitantly, “the rest of the stuff he was saying didn’t make much sense.”
The doctor turned to the nurse, who sheepishly averted her gaze.
“Best Nancy could gather was that the guy had gone a little crazy, being without power, food—I dunno—maybe even water during the storm.” She shrugged. “Best Nancy could gather.”
Crazy? How long had the power been out? Four, maybe five days, max?
“Any family?”
“Her emergency contact was Sheriff Dana Drew up there in Askergan County.”
“Well, shouldn’t be too hard to find a number for him, then.”
The nurse swallowed hard.
“Was,” she reiterated, before adding, “Sheriff Drew is dead.”
2.
Oxford Was Dead. Mama was dead. Seth, Cody, and Henrietta were missing. But as much as these facts hurt Jared, there was no time for grief or self-pity. Not now—not when members of his family were still missing.
“Marley,” Jared said slowly, staring at the woman’s blank face, “do you remember anything about where Cody said he was going?”
Marley turned toward him at the mention of her husband’s name, but if Jared was expecting some sort of revelation, he was sadly mistaken; she simply shook her head. It was the same head shake she had given him when he had told her what had happened at the Wharfburn Estate—albeit a heavily edited and censored version. Even for him, having been there, having lived the horror, he wasn’t sure what was real and what his mind had fabricated. In fact, if it weren’t for Deputy Coggins, he probably would’ve believed none of it.
“He just said he was leaving,” Marley replied matter-of-factly. “He said he couldn’t stay any longer.”
Her apathy pained him.
“Are you sure? He didn’t say where? South? North?”
All of a sudden Marley’s expression changed, as if his words had triggered something in her, and the Marley that Jared knew before this whole shitstorm happened—the tough yet compassionate, caring woman—returned. Only she was sad now—so sad.
“Did I do this, Jared?” she whispered.
Jared reached out and grabbed her hand.
“Of course not.”
Despite his words, Marley nodded as if to affirm her own statement.
“I did this—I made him leave. I made you all leave.”
Her voice cracked and she started to cry.
“Mar—”
“I was scared… I wanted you guys to go so badly—I—I—”
She sobbed, and Jared leaned in close, his own tears flowing now.
“I—I just thought that if you guys went, it would leave me alone. That—that—Jared, am I a horrible person? I thought that if you guys went, it would be satisfied—that it would leave me and Corina alone.”
Jared wanted to hold the woman, but he was racked with his own sobs—as cryptic as her words were, he thought he understood what she meant.
“After you guys left, I couldn’t do anything. I was afraid that if I even so much as got off that couch that I would leave Corina and go to it. And—for fuck’s sake—I don’t even know what it is, Jared. But I was so, so scared.”
Marley looked at Jared when she spoke, and a shadow passed over his face when she uttered the word it.
“But you—you know what it is, don’t you?”
Her voice was barely a whisper, her eyes wet and wide.
“Was,” Jared corrected her, “what it was.”
Marley shook her head slowly.
“I don’t ever want to know, okay? Not ever.”
Jared nodded and first wiped her tears away, then his own. If it were possible for him to forget, to not know what it was, he would have made it so. He wished to Christ it were possible for him to forget—to have never known.
Dad’s eyes; it had Dad’s eyes.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, both of them slowly recovering from the emotional outburst. Marley’s face transitioned back to the mask she had been wearing for the past few days, and when Jared convinced himself that he wouldn’t start crying again, he finally gathered enough courag
e to speak.
“Have you been out looking for Cody and Henrietta?” he asked softly.
He himself had been out all morning combing the area around the Lawrence house, trudging through miles of snow trying to locate his eldest brother and youngest niece.
“No,” Marley said unapologetically. “There are hundreds of people out there looking, and I can barely walk.”
As proof, she held up one sandaled foot: all but the big toe was covered in gauze—frostbite.
Jared nodded.
“Besides,” she added, throwing a glance over her shoulder, “I need to stay with Corina.”
Jared gently tapped her thigh and stood. He didn’t blame her; the woman had lost more than the tips of her toes, and it made sense for her to latch on to the thing closest to her, the one thing she had left: Corina.
“I’m gonna go see her now, okay?”
Marley’s expression was blank again, and he took this lack of objection as permission.
Corina had been lucky enough to get her own hospital room, thanks to Deputy Coggins—a significant gesture, considering that even with his influence he had only been able to get one single room, which he had given to her and not to Alice. There had been so many minor injuries—falls, dehydration, pneumonia, and of course frostbite—over the Christmas holiday that single rooms were at a premium. But after what they had seen at the Wharfburn Estate and what they had discovered when the power finally came back on at the Lawrence house, Coggins had given the room to Corina, and then he had formed a search party. Problem was, there were more than two dozen people missing, and although Jared knew where some of them were—what was left of them, at least—there were others out there, like Cody and Henrietta, lost in the snow. Seth was out there, too, although Jared was still trying to piece together exactly why he had left—and where he might have gone. Marley had told him that he had just up and left without so much as a goodbye, and as much as he was infuriated by the coward—leaving his family to freeze to death—he hoped that Seth had found somewhere warm to wait out the storm, somewhere out of the cold. And for all of his anger toward the man, he hoped beyond hope that he had left to avoid going east, instead of because of it. So when Jared was out searching for his family, he was also searching for Seth—all the while secretly hoping he never found him.
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